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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789844">Monstrous</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comeradebeeb/pseuds/Comeradebeeb'>Comeradebeeb</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Borderlands (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:20:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comeradebeeb/pseuds/Comeradebeeb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A short dip into Krieg and how he struggles with his self image.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Krieg/Maya (Borderlands)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Monstrous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning to anybody with mental health problems for this one. Its a bit rough.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>There's a very specific way to treat a woman. I feel deep down inside I've learned how. Maybe even perfected the art. It feels instinctual somehow. Like she's worth more than me. Maybe she is. She is. She definitely is. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I sat watching her brush her hair, lost in my own thoughts. I don't know what I was really thinking; everything was so loud and I couldn't focus on one thought long enough to comprehend it. It was like every time I blinked I was watching TV static and listening to ten different radio stations at the same time. It was like numbness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I found myself staring at her face, her dainty chin, her puffy lips. Her little button nose. Then I saw her hands. It was a wonder how nice they looked. Poised, articulated, delicate looking. I knew they couldn't be though, it wasn't possible. I knew the things she could do with them. Seen it... </span>
  <em>
    <span>Felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. But they were immaculate. And her hair, full and thick. Healthy. It glistened in the light like river waves. I could smell her lavender shampoo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I thought of the word 'scent' I could feel my body take in a gulp of air like I had just accidentally pulled a trigger on some grand machine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I must've startled her, because she started looking right back at me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I could feel my face light up bright red like a light. And my stomach felt sickly. My hands began to shake and my vision went cloudy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I slunk away from her. I slammed the door and fumbled with the lock. My heart was beating in the back of my eye sockets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I yanked the mask off my face, tossing it haphazardly across the room and feeling guilty when it hit the wall. I probably broke the tank.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I paced around for a few minutes, biting my nails down to the tips of my fingers and listening to the soft pleading from outside my door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She walked away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I pressed my head against the door, smashing the tip of my nose into it until I could hear my cartilage pop under the weight of my skull. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My nose was ugly and crooked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hit the floor like a bag of rocks, pulling my knees up to my chest and running my hands down the sides of my face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hated the texture. Too many bumps and indents for a normal face. My heart lurched. It stung too. Down to the bone. I shivered, my teeth rattled and dug into my lip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My lips were fat, torn up and bloody. My teeth were jagged and ugly. My face looked unfinished. My skin was rotten.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I pressed down hard into my cheek, just to see how much of the stinging I could take before it became unbearable. There was no bounce to my face. My fingers left imprints into my flesh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My hands looked like a child had drawn them. They were too big. The only thing they were good for now was breaking bones. I could rip all the skin off of them and I would barely feel it. I had no fingerprints anymore. They had been burned off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pain went through my head like I had just been shot. I arched my back and opened my mouth, letting out a small noise. My head throbbed and I could see purple.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I had no hair to pull on, no eyelashes to tear out, no eyebrows to furrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>disgusting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I rocked back and forth, I thought about it more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>About how lucky I was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because I didn't deserve this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If it was me in her shoes I would've left. I disgust myself. I disgust my other self. He disgusts me the same. And he does to himself. That's something we have a mutual agreement over. It's instinct. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The law was there before he had even arrived, I think.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I've never been a prideful person. I can say that wholeheartedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if I didn't know who I was before this, I probably wouldn't have liked him much just out of nature of being me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My other self thinks that's the funniest thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I'm conflicted on whether to laugh or cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It hurts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deep in my heart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My heart that's so bad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And blackened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charred and poisoned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tainted.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sickly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Undesirable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It hurts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I can hear it suck and pull and throb in there. It's taunting me. It's so evil. I hate it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I start to scratch at myself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chills run up and down my back every time I get to see blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My mouth waters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I binge ate that night. I'm not proud of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She saw me afterwards. She put her hands on me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wanted to shrink away, I thought a layer of slime would trail between us as she pulled her hand away. It was terrifying. Like me just being there could hurt her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My fear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But my selfish side wanted her to keep going.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I was frozen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her voice was soft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Softer than me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her words were calm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Calmer than me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her aura was lovely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lovelier than me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was almost too soft. Too beautiful. Like wasted produce. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I almost wanted her to slap me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or restrain me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pull my hands behind me and put a chain around my neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I could worship her. I could be her slave. If it would satisfy her it would make me happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I fantasized about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wanted to please her so bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When we had sex, I wanted to preform for her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But when I looked at myself, I wondered how anybody could find that pleasurable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's too much. It's barely human. It's shameful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's always so loud. I'm afraid it hurts too bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she is always so eager.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I have needs she's right there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the feeling of being dominated is something I've always thought about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, if I've been in a bad place I'll imagine myself back there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being held down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Choked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Powerless</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I almost want to feel it again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pain of it all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My punishment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But this time, at the end of it all. She would be there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She'd hold my head against her chest, cooing me. Almost like how a mother should. She'd listen as I cry to her. And she'd understand every word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I'm too ashamed to ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, that wouldn't be pleasurable to her. She's so much more than that. She needs care. Real care, not the kind of phony whipping kind I need.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She deserves better than me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somebody who doesn't make her hurt for days afterwards. Somebody who doesn't have to be so gentle with their teeth. Somebody who knows how to properly say 'I love you'.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don't know why she settles for me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I'm so… so </span>
  <em>
    <span>subhuman</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could do so much better if she just got away from me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she keeps coming closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And my selfish half lets it happen, despite both my other self and I begging it to let her go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I love her so much. Why do I let her settle for less than what she deserves?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because I am a selfish man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I hate myself for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When we got back home, it was quiet. She knew something was wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I couldn't tell her right though. I struggled with it so badly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked at me like I was giving a grand sermon at a church, nodding along with my words like she was taking mental notes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like she knew. She did know. She's very smart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smarter than I am.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She took my hands, rubbing the calluses on my fingers and frowning when she saw how deep I had gnawed my nails to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I'm surprised how she doesn't feel uncomfortable around me. She just goes with it. She acts like it's totally normal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes I forget that it's not. When I look in the mirror I'm not sure what I'm expecting. It's not this, though. It's one of the worst feelings in the world. My happiness gets drained instantly when I realize how much I'm missing. How flawed I am. How I will continue to be. It's like I grieve for myself. It makes me sick.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don't want to focus on it. I want to focus on her, and her eyes, and her nose, her lips, her hair. Her voice, her smile. The scent of her, the way her tattoos glint in the moonlight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I could block the image of myself out of my own head for a while and think of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How I wanted to hold her, make sure she was warm and happy. Listen to her breathe as she slept. I could clean for her, make her food. She could do whatever she wanted to. It could be domestic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I'm too clumsy for that, though. There's too many ways that I could end up ruining it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We were laying on the bed together now. She ran her hands along my body, trying desperately to pull me out of my miserable little self pity hole I had put myself in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pity is the wrong word, I think. It's more like, um… loathing? Self loathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was trying to compliment me. I'm really not good with compliments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I just... I just kinda put my hand on her head and pet her hair. It was so soft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed. Maybe it was frustrating. I wasn't in the mood to change my mind though. The less I thought about myself the more warm I could be to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she asked if I wanted to try something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe she understood more than what I had told her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She took me into the bathroom. We stood in front of the mirror and she began to undress herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I turned my head to look the other way out of respect but she grabbed my face and brought me down to her eye level.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She told me to point out the things I thought made her special. Everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when I looked at her I thought I might've been dreaming. My chest tightened up and my face felt hot. She just stood there, waiting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even inviting me to touch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I just. I melted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I started sobbing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her skin was so soft, and I could barely trace the patterns in her skin with my oversized fingers. I couldn't do her justice. It was too much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was still. She let me cry over her. Verbally and nonverbally, she let me express myself. It was hard for me. I witnessed pure radiance. She wanted me to detail it to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she told me to undress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not just my pants. Not just my mask. Everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She told me to do the same thing to myself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I frowned. It was a very different picture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked like a classical painting, but I looked like a cartoon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I stood there, awkwardly, looking down at my disproportionate body. My toes curled against the cold tile floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I had to really think.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What did I like about myself?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was so strange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I never had looked at myself like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like an actual person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I had always just considered myself as a substitute for what should have been. Like I was just a few things thrown together. Like I was inanimate. A science project. But it was still me. That's the weird thing. I was right there. I could only see it out of the one eye, but it was my eye. It was my body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I am a human being. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I moved my hands along my abdomen, listening to my skin rub against itself over my abs. They were only so defined because I was hungry. But, people liked that, I thought. Did </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> though? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe. Maybe I liked that I had skin to pick on. I liked that I had bones to break.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nodded. It wasn't what she was going for, but it was going in the right direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I liked that I had a stomach to eat with. I had an eye to see with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She told me to keep going. To think a little harder about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I looked at my hands, the veins running up my arms, the way my skin wrapped itself around the muscle. There wasn't a spec of fat on me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I guess I liked how strong I was. Sturdy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I rolled my shoulder and flexed my arm, looking at all of my scars twitch slightly as I bent my elbow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least I knew I could take a beating. I could. I could take a lot. Physically at least, I was durable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I looked down at my chest. I had a nice chest. Pretty wide, loud heartbeat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She liked to lay on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I liked that. I liked making her happy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The more I thought like that, though, the more I started to think of more things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My arms, I could hold her with my arms. And my lips. I could kiss her with them. My ears, so I could hear her voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I told her all of these. Everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leaned against me, rubbing my back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She told me to look in the mirror again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To notice how similar we looked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At first, I didn't know what she was talking about. I didn't get it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then I realized it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When we touched each other, it wasn't just me lusting after her. She would reciprocate it. She could feel me as I felt her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had eyes to see me with, lips to kiss me with. She had a chest I could lay on and ears to hear me call out for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We saw each other the same way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I realized, maybe that meant I wasn't so unworthy after all. Maybe I wasn't so ugly. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>inhuman</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I was just me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she was just her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And we were just together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I realized, even if there was a difference between us, anything I would do for her, she would do for me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was so strange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was comforting. I'm very thankful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she said I didn't need to be, because she loved me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And I could feel the tears coming again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Cause I loved her too. She should know that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I think she did. I hoped she did. Even if I couldn't get it out right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I was so happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She told me to let her know if I felt like that again. She could help me. I know it's gonna happen again eventually, it always does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it feels a little better now at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Knowing that somebody cares, knowing that somebody sees your less desirable pieces and finds a use for them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Knowing that somebody loves you.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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